Remember Me
by Prying Pandora
Summary: Three years after the events of Don Juan Triumphant, Christine decides to return to the Opera Populaire to rid herself of Erik once and for all...but some things are much more easily said than done. EC Pairing.
1. Reflections

_A/N: Hello! This is my first real attempt at writing a fan fic…actually writing anything fictional at all. Please read and enjoy, and please, if you read, review, even if you hate it (but try to be nice, remember it's my first one!)._

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**Remember Me**

Chapter One:

Reflections

When one looks into a mirror, what is it that she sees? Does she see a mere reflection of herself in the glass, or does she see something more? Does she see her dreams, her hopes, her future? Does she see the woman she aspires to be? Surely a simple piece of glass cannot hold so many answers. In a mirror, one simply sees a reflection of herself; no lies, no deception-everything is laid bare before her, the truths of her person revealed to its beholder.

So why can I not bear to face myself in my own mirror?

I feel as though I am slowly drowning, watching time pass me by as I sit, stagnant in the water; I am so loved, so why do I feel so alone? Minutes melt into hours, days into weeks, weeks into months, and yet, nothing changes. I am still the same, scared little girl that I have always been. I always sit here in this room, thinking grand thoughts, telling myself I will change. Yet, when push comes to shove, I always become the same, terrified little pet that runs into the arms of the safest master.

Poor, little Christine. She has always been so fragile. Indecisive. _Afraid_.

But what am I so afraid of?

I am tired of being weak. I am tired of being afraid. Best of all, I am tired of lying to myself.

My entire life has been one big sham. My weaknesses have hurt so many people. Every tear I have shed has betrayed him, for every tear has been for no one but me. Every tear feels as though it is acid upon my skin.

I never meant to hurt him. I was just so young, so naive; he was so strong, so passionate, so _sure_. He deserved so much more than I could give him...

I left him that night. I walked away from the one thing in my life that I was sure of. I ran into Raoul's arms and never looked back.

Raoul. Raoul, Raoul, Raoul….I could say that name a thousand times and I would still never believe that it is I who am his wife. I could have never wished for a better husband. He is so gentle, so nurturing-so amazingly perfect in every way. He has given me everything one could have ever dreamed of and more; so why is it that I am still so unhappy?

"Christine," Raoul's cheerful voice broke through my reverie, my eyes averting to the door of my music room to see his cheerful face peering through the archway. "Are you coming to bed soon, my dear? I do feel so lonely without you when you spend so much time sitting in this room."

"I'll be there in a moment, Raoul," I replied, forcing the most sincere smile I could muster, "I must have just lost track of the time."

With a smile and a quick nod of his head, he came in and kissed my forehead, stroking my tangled curls gently. "I love you, Lotte," he whispered in my ear. With that, he slowly walked from the room, glancing back to give me an adoring smile before going up the stairs to our bedroom.

After Raoul reached the top step and I heard his footsteps moving over head, I let out a relieved breath. Had I been holding my breath that whole time? Better yet, WHY had I been holding my breath? Why did waves of guilt crash over me like a tide I couldn't escape whenever he smiled at me? My vision began to blur and I tried frantically to blink away the bitter tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks. My mind began to swim, and I looked around at the room, trying to distract myself from the thoughts that were slowly consuming me like a virus from within. Raoul had built this room for me. On our first wedding anniversary, he had blindfolded me and led me through the house into this magnificent room; and it truly was magnificent. The walls were painted a light gold that shimmered in the dim light of the candelabras that adorned the walls. Rich, dark wood bookcases lined one side of the room, containing a vast collection of my favorite works and my own personal music library. A beautiful grand piano sat alone in the middle of the room. At one time, the dark wood had gleamed in the low light, the carvings in the wood seeming to come alive and play out their stories in the woodwork; now, the piano lay covered by a thick layer of dust. The cover remained shut. The keys remained motionless.

The piano had never been played.

I slowly stood, collecting my thoughts, and ran my fingers through the dust that covered the ornate piano. I walked slowly to the window of the room, looking out across the vast landscape of our estates. Lush, well-maintained gardens and elegant brick paths scattered throughout the acreage made it glow regally in the dim light of the moon. I had looked over that landscape thousands of times, walked it paths alone, read in the small gazebo that sat next to a small pond. Yet, I had always made quite sure to stay away from the garden Raoul had given me. I remember it as though it were yesterday…

"Christine, happy anniversary!" Raoul sang merrily in my ear, rousing me from my slumber. I opened my eyes, blinking away the sleep, as his bright, smiling eyes came into focus.

"But it's still so early," I mumbled, turning over and pulling a pillow over my head to block the harsh light from my eyes.

"Darling, it's nearly ten o' clock! You cannot simply sleep the day away on our anniversary! I have a wonderful surprise for you. Oh please come see, I've spent so much time on it."

I rolled overly and batted his arm playfully. "Oh, I know, I've become so lazy. You shouldn't spoil me so. But Raoul, it isn't our anniversary! Have you actually forgotten the correct day?" I feigned a pout.

"Well…it is our _one month_ anniversary. And any opportunity I can find to spoil my beautiful wife, I will take!"

He pulled me out of bed and towards the door with the excitement of a young child waiting for his mother so he could go downstairs and open his presents on Christmas morning.

"Wait!" I laughed. "I must dress. I hardly think the servants would appreciate a proper lady running around in her dressing gown at mid-morning. What would they think of me?"

"Alright, alright," Raoul agreed impatiently. "But hurry up!"

"I will," I smiled at him and quickly pushed him out of the room teasingly, closing the door behind me.

I leaned against the door, my smile slowly dissipating as I slumped against the thick wood.

_Will it always be like this?_ I thought to myself. Will _I always be so unhappy? Will he haunt me until the day I die?_

Escaping my thoughts, I quickly focused on the task at hand and put on my daily mask of indifference, rushing into my daily dressing routine. I threw a chemise over my head and pulled on my corset clumsily, tying the back the best I could without the assistance of my lady's maid. I pulled on a light blue day dress that was lined with lace; delicate embroidery lined the bustled skirts. As I was getting on my shoes, an impatient knock sounded at the door

"I'm coming!" I yelled breathlessly as I attempted to pin my hair back quickly.

When I finished dressing, Raoul whisked me down the grand staircase and out the side entrance of our home. We walked for what seemed like hours on the winding brick pathways.

"Are we nearly there yet?" I panted. I wasn't used to such brisk walking for extended periods of time.

"Almost!" he said excitedly, grinning back at me.

After a few more moments, we came upon a clearing of trees. A beautiful white arbor stood in the midst of the forest, a striking contrast to the dark foliage that surrounded it. Healthy, lush ivy weaved through the trellises of the arbor elegantly. Quickly, Raoul put his hands over my eyes.

"It gets better," he whispered in my ear. I could nearly hear the huge smile on his face in his voice alone.

He led me gently forward many steps. We turned, wove our way down some sort of path, and finally stopped. I could feel the warm sun beating down on my face and hear the peaceful trickling of water somewhere behind me. A sweet, powerful scent filled my senses that I couldn't quite place, causing nostalgia to wash over me. Raoul slowly removed his hands from my eyes.

"Open your eyes," he said quietly.

Hesitating, I slowly opened my eyes. I gasped. I was surrounded by red, it was everywhere. Red dripped from the dark leaves of the plants that surrounded me like the blood of a wounded soldier. Those vile scarlet roses surrounded me everywhere I turned. My head began to spin, blood pounding behind my ears.

When I looked at those plants, all I saw was him. Tears began streaming down my cheeks.

"Little Lotte, don't cry! I knew you would like it, but I did not quite expect you to like it this much!"

I only cried harder at his words. The beautiful palace of roses he had built for me slowly began to close in on me like a prison. The beautiful white trellises turned into the harsh, iron bars of the portcullis. The scarlet roses withered into dead, decaying petals. Everything began to spin.

And then my world went black.

I never went back to the garden after that day. Raoul of course, easily dismissed my fainting spell as a reaction to the heat and my joy at his gift. He was always so blindly trusting…

Those flowers only brought back memories of the man I had chosen to leave behind. As the months drew on, I slowly began to separate myself from everything that reminded me of him. I could not bear the thought of him. It was driving me mad.

The flowers, the music…the darkness.

I had requested bright lights to be placed in every room when our home was built.

I evaded the garden as though it were the plague.

I hadn't sung a note since the final performance of Don Juan.

I had been running for so long, yet I always came back to the same place. I could never be free of him.

I hate him! I hate him! I hate him for lying to me…he promised he would let me go. He promised…

I realize now that there is only one way to free myself of him. I have to go back. Back to that dreaded place.

Home.

No, not home.

My thoughts make no sense to me. This insatiable longing consumes me every time I remember the darkness…_his_ darkness.

For once in my life, I am making a decision. I have to go back. I am going back. Tonight.

Walking to the piano, I gently traced letters into the thick dust, leaving a clean trail wherever my fingers touched the rich, polished wood.

I quietly walked upstairs to procure my cloak. As I walked into my room, I saw Raoul sprawled across our bed sleeping peacefully. He looked so happy, so innocent in the dull glow of the moon outside. For a moment, I hesitated. Doubt swept over me, and I quickly shook it away. I had been hiding from the truth long enough.

I gazed upon Raoul one last time and turned from the security I had known so long before I could change my mind, choking back a sob.

I ran from the house, my mind becoming a blur. I could hardly see my hand in front of me in the dark, but I didn't care. Before I realized what had happened, I was standing in front of the building I had grown up in.

The structure was in complete ruin. The ceiling had caved in and the once beautiful windows were shattered. Huge black marks remained on the once perfect ivory walls of the theatre.

I slowly walked up the steps. I had to face the memories before I could face him…

Taking a deep breath, I grasped the large gold handle and pulled the doors of the opera house open for the first time inthree years.

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_A/N…so, tell me what you think! If you want me to continue, REVIEW. Any criticisms are welcome. Reviews fuel the writer's work!_


	2. Memories

**Remember Me**

Chapter Two: Memories

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read and left reviews, it means so much! I promise that our favorite character will make a very big appearance in the next chapter to make up for the fact that he's been so absent! Please leave a review if you read, I do love them so.

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A startling blast of air hit Christine as the doors to the Opera flew open, shocking her so much she staggered back and nearly fell down the steps behind her. The giant building loomed before her, a mere dark, ominous shadow compared to the splendor it once possessed. Collecting herself, she took a step forward, but then stopped abruptly, indecision sweeping over her.

_I can't do this. _She thought to herself miserably. _I cannot go back to all of these memories…_

Memories had been haunting her for so long. If she didn't face them soon, she would never have the courage to do the right thing.

But what was the right thing? Did such a thing even exist anymore? And if it did, would she ever really know, in her heart, what it was?

Pushing her thoughts aside, Christine walked into the main hall of what used to be her home. The once beautiful theater lay in complete ruin. Huge, black streaks of soot were smeared across the floor, walls, and ceiling. Ornate pillars sat cracked and chipped, some even completely dislodged and haphazardly strewn about the floor.

"I do hope those were only decorative," Christine joked aloud to herself, trying to ease her nerves.

Making her way to the staircase, Christine was careful to avoid the debris and broken steps that littered her path. She grabbed the railing and let out a sudden shriek, reeling backwards as the bar detached from the wall. She fell into the wall opposite her with a thud, all of the breath knocked from her lungs. She gasped for air as she slumped against the wall, defeated.

_Why did I come back here? This is so utterly foolish! _She thought to herself bitterly. _He isn't even here…_

But she didn't want him to be there…no, of course she didn't.

She was here to for absolution…

But from what? Is it truly possible to absolve yourself of another human being?

With new determination, Christine made her way up several flights of stairs with a renewed sense of caution, and headed up the stairs towards the dormitory hallway. The farther she climbed, the more familiar the theatre became. The damage seemed to have only spread through the lower floors of the opera, leaving the upper levels exactly as she remembered them. Christine smiled to herself, remembering all the wonderful memories she had shared in these hallways…

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"Christine, run faster! It is no fun if you simply let me catch you every time!" a much younger Meg Giry yelled to her friend, exasperated and out of breath. Her blond curls bounced behind her, her practice frock becoming dirty and wrinkled as she chased after her friend.

"I'm running as fast as I can!" a youthful Christine yelled, looking over her shoulder at her friend. Her dark curls were tangled and matted against her face, and Christine sighed in annoyance as Meg continued to pursue her. Meg had always insisted on playing such silly games as children.

"Well, I'd hate to think you were actually that slow. What would you ever do if the opera ghost were to come after you? You'd never be able to escape! He'd capture you, take you down to his lair, and kill you!" she said melodramatically, her eyes wide with excitement.

"Don't be silly, Meg. Ghosts can't hurt you!"

"That's what you think," Meg said, a mysterious smile sweeping over her countenance. "Mother has told me otherwise."

"Oh has she?" Christine asked her friend doubtfully. She could hardly imagine someone as practical, proper, and strict as Madame Giry telling her daughter mysterious ghost stories and warning her of their dangers.

"Yes, she has," Meg answered quite seriously. Meg smiled at Christine as though she knew some grand secret that no one else had the privilege to partake in, and skipped off down the hallway, singing a quiet song under her breath. Christine could barely make out the words as her friend's skipping feet echoed down the corridor, growing softer and dimmer.

Little Christine laughed to herself. Meg was always inventing remarkable, impressive tales and telling them to whoever would listen. Would she ever grow up?

Meg's voice began to disappear as she turned the corner to go to her rooms. Growing fainter and fainter, young Christine suddenly became very aware of something…some noise…some presence…

A strange, melodic voice was harmonizing with Meg's fading melody.

_Your hand at the level of your eyes…_

Starting, Christine spun around at the direction of the sound, her arm brushing up against something rough. A rope? For a moment, she could have sworn she saw a flash of white in the darkness before her.

But when she leaned to look closer, nothing was there…

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Once flowing with life and flooded with opulence, the Opera Populaire now stood alone, a cold, broken, and deserted edifice – a shell of Christine's former life. She felt at home in this building, even after all the ruin that had befallen it, for she was now only a shell of what she once had been as well, haunted by memories of the past, ravaged by the damage inflicted upon her by none other than her Angel himself…

Or was she responsible for all the pain she felt?

Christine walked throughout the building for hours, navigating through the twisted mazes of halls as through she had never left. Every room, every hall, every step brought back thousands of memories, and they fell upon her like bricks, suffocating her with their weight.

Finally coming to the end of the corridor, Christine gazed apprehensively upon the door of the dressing room she had carelessly stepped foot into so many times before. The door was streaked with soot and sitting slightly ajar. All it would take to open it would be the slightest nudge, the faintest touch. Christine reached her hand out towards the door, her fingers trembling violently. Pressing her hand to the door, she gently swung it open. The door creaked loudly as it swung on the old, neglected hinges to reveal her old dressing room.

Old, dried flowers sat in vases, withered beyond recognition. A thick layer of dust had settled over the room, making the air feel dark and heavy. Her heart broke as she looked around the room, remembering the spectacle it had once been. She remembered when all the flowers were new and fresh…dark roses, bright carnations, and elegant lilies lined the tables. The furniture shone in the dim light, the walls seemed to glitter, covered in fine art from all around Europe. This was the room that the star occupied…

She remembered the first time she had occupied it. The first night she triumphed on stage as Marguerite in Faust, she had awoken in this room after fainting on stage after her performance. She remembered people surrounding her, she remembered Raoul's concerned face – but those were all fleeting memories, brief, blurred moments of her past that all seemed to melt together. What she would never forget were the events that transpired when everyone had left her…

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The large, embellished door clicked shut behind Christine's last visitor as everyone left her alone to rest after her triumph onstage had strained her so greatly. Candles flickered around the room, casting shadows upon the walls that danced gaily in the dim light. The opera house had long ago become silent, the patrons long gone, and the dancers safely tucked away in their beds after a long, taxing performance. The world had gone to bed, but Christine lay awake, waiting…

In her heart she knew just how remarkable her performance had been. She had breathed her soul into every note she sang onstage that night. Her technique was immaculate, her stage presence extraordinary, and her character, tragic though she was, was impossible not to fall in love with. She knew she had made him proud.

Christine sat in a luxurious red plush chaise that was seated next to a grand fireplace whose embers glowed and crackled, keeping her warm against the bitter winter air that surrounded the opera house. She waited for what felt like hours. Wasn't he coming? Wasn't he proud of her? Hadn't she performed as he'd wished her to? Christine became restless. She went to the vanity to brush her long, chestnut curls, but still he did not come. She wrote in her journal of the night's performance, and still he was nowhere to be heard. Finally, she settled down upon the chaise again and opened a book. She soon became tired, the light growing dimmer as the flames in the fireplace shrank, leaving only glowing red embers in their wake. Her eyes began to flutter shut and the book fell carelessly onto the floor.

It was then that she heard the violin surrounding her, floating ethereally to her from what could only be Heaven. The sound was intoxicating, seductive. It filled her senses and danced through her mind. As abruptly as it had come, the music disappeared. Christine's eyes flew open, released from the music's enchantment. He was there.

"Angel?" Christine whispered hesitantly.

"It is not me who is the Angel tonight, my dear. Tonight you put even the brightest angel to shame. You were perfection," a beautiful, dark voice spoke, emanating from the shadows.

Christine turned a violent shade of red at her teacher's words. He had never before bestowed such lavish praise upon her. In fact, he had never offered any praise at all. She bowed her head in acknowledgement of his words.

"For your progress and great triumph, I wish to offer you a gift. Anything your heart desires. What do you want, Christine?"

"You have already given me everything I could have ever dreamed of, angel. I cannot ask you for anything more," Christine whispered, her eyes gazing upwards.

"I insist," the dark voice said, the kindness in his voice concealing the control he was exuded.

Christine instantly spoke her heart, hypnotized by his words. "I wish to see you, Master. I want to know your face."

The room suddenly became silent. Deathly silent.

"I told you never to request such a thing from me," the voice seethed, anger lacing through the beautiful tones.

"I-I'm sorry," Christine stuttered. "I didn't mean anything – I just – I –"

"Silence!" the voice spat. "Stop your childish whimpering. I will not have you crying after such a performance."

Christine bowed her head in regret of her request.

The voice softened. "It may not be possible for you to see me, but I will leave you with a part of me this evening in acknowledgment of your great triumph, my love."

Christine's brow furrowed in confusion. Suddenly, a voice surrounded her. Rich, deep melodic tones spun around her, creating a web of beauty and illusion. He was singing. Was she dead? Was this heaven? It surely had to be, for she had never heard anything so astonishingly beautiful in her entire life. The lullaby went on until Christine drifted off into a peaceful slumber, and then slowly disappeared from the large chamber in which she slept.

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Breaking out of her reminiscence, Christine realized she had been leaning against something cold and hard for quite a long time. She suddenly threw herself away from the great mirror that stood before her in disgust, tears pooling in her eyes.

_What is wrong with me? _she thought viciously to herself.

Disgusted with herself, Christine tore from the room and down the halls of the opera. She ran and ran, tears blurring her vision. She finally came to the wings of the stage. How she had gotten there, she did not know, but the sight was truly one to behold. The theater lay completely devastated. The once elaborate architecture was now crumbling and tarnished. Shards from the extravagant chandelier lay scattered about the floor, making it glitter in the light from above. The seats, once a rich, plush red velvet were now torn, burned, and covered in soot and dust. The set from Don Juan remained on stage. The red and black curtains hung limply, discolored and damaged. Ropes hung haphazardly from the ceiling above the bridge that stood connected by two spiral staircases.

That bridge…

Nothing was as it used to be…

Christine walked to the center of the stage, avoiding the debris and missing floorboards as best she could. Taking a deep breath, she gathered her confidence. No one was here, what would the harm be in reveling in the past for a moment? But she hadn't sung a note in three years…could she do it now?

Taking a deep breath, Christine began to sing. Her world spun, the theater transforming back into the vision it had been on this fateful night three years before. The words of Aminta and Don Juan's final duet consumed her; she put all the the pain and confusion she felt into the notes she sang. Her mind spun back to that night, back to being with him onstage…

Before Christine knew it, she was ascending the rickety steps up to the bridge. She was completely lost in the moment, singing her part of the duet as though she was back onstage with him three years ago. As she reached the bridge, she suddenly stopped. Memories flooded her. She remembered tearing the mask from his face. She remembered the hurt and surprise that flooded his eyes at her sudden betrayal.

_What I would give to erase every one of those memories, _Christine thought to herself. _What I would give to take it all back, and do the right thing._

The right thing. Suddenly it was clear to her. She had to go back and see him. Somehow find him. She had to tell him…

Glancing around at the auditorium one last time, Christine was suddenly blinded. Light was pouring in from a large hole that had been created in the ceiling of the theater – it was morning. The light met with the glittering shards of crystal that lined the floor creating an impossible wall of light that reflected back into her eyes, stunning her. She blinked, trying to clear her senses, but the light was blinding her. She stumbled backward, grabbing for the rail. She hit something solid, but suddenly, the old, burned wood snapped. Air rushed past Christine. She screamed.

Everything went black…

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RnR please!

A huge thanks goes out to Provocateur for helping me sort out all my thoughts. Thanks for listening to my ramblings! (Check out her stories, she is also a resident of FFN, and very talented!)


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